


Allurement

by uena



Series: The Sweetest Thing [22]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-10 01:01:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5562709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uena/pseuds/uena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inclement weather forces the boys to seek shelter in a snug little inn. Porthos makes use of their confinement to review his relationship with Athos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princeyoungjaes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princeyoungjaes/gifts).



"Okay. This is … less than ideal." Porthos is squinting out the windshield, doing his best to anticipate the road. But the snow is falling hard, restricting his vision to an alarming extent, has turned the countryside into one huge mass of endless white. Athos is quiet, sitting next to him in the passengers seat, stabbing at his phone with impatient fingers, while Aramis has fallen asleep in the back, oblivious to the weather. The slight snowfall that accompanied their departure from Aramis' parents has turned into something dangerously close to a blizzard, and while their car is as safe as it could be under the circumstances, Porthos would still prefer to sit this out in something rather more sturdy – something that doesn't go on wheels. 

"There is a hotel a few kilometres ahead," Athos says after a few minutes of tense silence and waves his phone in Porthos' general direction. "I suggest we stop there for as long as it continues to snow." 

"You sure?" Porthos asks, very aware of Athos' distaste for staying in strange places that do not even come with the comfort of a familiar host – like your friend's parents for example. 

"I am," Athos drawls softly. "Do you imagine I want you to keep driving in this weather?" 

"I can handle it," Porthos grunts, securing his grip on the steering wheel – nearly pulling it towards the ditch when Athos puts his hand on his thigh and gives it a gentle squeeze. 

"I know you can, and I do trust your driving, but I would rather not wreck your nerves unnecessarily." 

Porthos takes a deep breath, hyperaware of the warm hand on his thigh. "That's nice of you. Keep your eyes peeled for that hotel of yours then." He glimpses into the rear view mirror to check on Aramis, and finds him still blissfully asleep, drooling on his own shoulder. He has folded in on himself as much as possible with the safety belt still securely in place, and Porthos smiles, looks at Athos from the corner of his eye. Finds him looking back. 

"What?" Athos asks, voice just as soft as before, and Porthos' smile morphs into a grin. 

"Christmas was lovely." 

"So it was," Athos agrees, a touch of warmth in his tone. "Is that so remarkable?" 

"Course it is," Porthos huffs, daring to let go of the steering wheel with his left to grasp the hand still resting on his thigh. "You know it is." 

"Yes," Athos admits after a bout of silence, allowing Porthos to hold his hand while staring straight ahead. Porthos has to suppress a blissful sigh. The more time Athos spends with Aramis, the easier it gets to rope him into this sort of innocent display of affection. Porthos loves it. They drive on like this for a minute or two, slowly, as to stay on the obscured road and not miss the hotel Athos has found online. 

"There it is," they say as one when it suddenly rises out of the snow, and Porthos manoeuvres Tank #2 over the road and onto the recently cleared parking space. 

He turns off the engine and Aramis wakes with a little gasp, blinking blearily. "What happened?" 

"The weather," Athos says drily, turning to face him. "We have decided to stop here until it clears." 

Aramis straightens and looks out of the window to his right, goggling at the wealth of snow outside. "What the -" 

Porthos gets out of the car. "I just hope they have room for us." 

 

"We only have one room left. I am so sorry." 

The lady behind the reception desk looks both flustered and regretful, and Porthos brushes some snowflakes out of his hair. "No problem. We take it." 

She blinks at him. Hers is more of an inn than a proper hotel, cosy and small, with low ceilings and random beams of wood standing about, and she's obviously not used to three gentlemen prepared to share one room with only one bed. Even if it's a big bed. 

Porthos smiles. "We need a place to stay until the weather clears. We'll manage - I promise." 

His gentle demeanour allows her to relax, and she nods, takes a key off the board at her back and straightens. "Follow me." 

The room is on the small side, right under the roof, but vastly comfortable, and the bed a queen-size, covered in cushions. Porthos contemplates it in silence, and the landlady looks from him to Athos and then to Aramis, obviously doubting their ability to fit into it all at once. "We'll manage," Porthos repeats his earlier words. "At least we won't get cold this way." 

She sighs and sags a little. "I am truly sorry." 

"The weather is hardly your fault," Athos says dryly. "It really is alright." 

She eyes him wearily, only to be distracted by a charming smile from Aramis. "You wouldn't by any chance have some hot chocolate for us?" 

"As a matter of fact I do," she replies, in the tone of an aunt talking to her favourite nephew. "I will set up a table for you boys in the breakfast room." With that she vanishes, only to be replaced by her husband, heaving their luggage into the room. 

"We would have done that ourselves!" Porthos exclaims, alarmed by the man's red face and shortness of breath, and he barks out a laugh, setting down the collection of bags. 

"Now you tell me!" 

"Thank you," Aramis says, looking guilty. "We really should have told you before." 

"Aw, it's alright, kid," the man says, apparently just as taken with Aramis as his wife. "A bit of exercise does me good." 

He grins at them and stalks out the door, and Athos sits down on the bed. Bounces. "Well." 

Porthos grins at him. "This was your idea." 

"They are very nice people," Aramis says, looking insecure despite his words. "I'm sure I could make a bed on the floor with all those cushions." 

"Oh no, you will not," Athos says sharply. "You will sleep in the bed, with us, and be happy about it." 

Aramis looks at him through his lashes. "Yes, Sir." 

Athos blushes scarlet. "I – I mean -" 

Porthos laughs and gives into his impulse to tackle Athos onto the bed, covers him with his body. "That's what you get for bein' a horrible little dictator!" 

Athos doesn't reply, lies beneath Porthos, still and pliant, not even making the attempt to free himself, and Porthos feels a peculiar warmth build at the bottom of his stomach. He's aware of a desire to kiss Athos, to hold him close and show him how much he cares about him – but then that desire has been a faithful companion to him for years. It's not selfish per se, but since Porthos knows that it would make Athos uncomfortable, he resists. 

For now.


	2. Chapter 2

Porthos rolls off Athos and onto his side, head propped up on his left hand while his right rests low on Athos' belly. Athos doesn't comment on it, remains motionless, eyes half-closed, completely relaxed. Porthos bites his lip. He knows that Athos trusts him, has always trusted him – that he tolerates the hand on his belly for that reason and that reason alone. Athos doesn't need physical affection the way Porthos does, doesn't yearn for a warm body to hold and be intimate with. It doesn't mean he doesn't need any physical contact – he can be surprisingly cuddly under the right circumstances. Like a cat. 

Porthos muses about this likeness for a moment, stroking his hand over Athos' soft pullover, up and down, again and again. Just like a cat, Athos chooses the people he allows to touch him, and if he trusts them, he will even go so far as to expose his belly the way he is doing now – demand head rubs in a somewhat ruthless fashion if the mood takes him. Aramis is different. For all Porthos calls Aramis _kitten_ , he is more like a puppy. Affectionate and needy, grateful for every little bit of attention, always ready to love and devote himself at the drop of a hat. 

Porthos looks up and finds Aramis standing frozen in place in the middle of the little room, staring at them with stars in his eyes. He loves that about Aramis – how he's never jealous of Porthos' affection for Athos, how wholeheartedly he enjoys their bond and would never even dream about coming between them. Joining them – now that is a different matter altogether. 

"Get over here," Porthos commands in a rough voice, and Aramis moves immediately, lies down on Athos' other side as if permission's all he's been waiting for. Porthos watches him hesitate for a moment and then Aramis puts his hand on Athos' belly too – gingerly and careful. 

Athos sighs, not put out, not uncomfortable in the least, but luxuriously. "What is this?" 

"Comfortable," Porthos says promptly. 

Athos looks at him from the corner of his eye. "I think the lady of the house is awaiting us downstairs with hot chocolate." 

"Are you tellin' me you don't like my belly-rubs?" Porthos asks, hooking his thumb under the hem of Athos' pullover. "Because I think you love 'em." 

Athos closes his eyes and holds his breath, and Porthos feels tempted to do the same. Then Athos relaxes into the touch once more, licks his lips. "It feels nice enough." 

Porthos grins. "There you have it." 

"I still think we should not make the nice Lady wait," Athos drawls, stretching his arms out over his head – exposing the happy trail leading down into his dark green shorts. 

Porthos chances a glance at Aramis, and the expression on Aramis' face suggests that he has noticed – that he's somewhat captivated by the sight. Porthos smiles to himself. How he hasn't gone mad between these two so far is a miracle. "Let's go downstairs then," he says, his voice soft and a little rough. "We can cuddle some more later … and tonight of course." 

"It is inevitable," Athos sighs, not quite managing to sound displeased with the prospect. 

 

"Oh God, this is so _good_." Aramis is clinging to his mug with both hands, blissfully unaware of the blob of whipped cream sitting in his beard. 

Athos wipes it off for him, and Porthos watches – as does the lady of the house, who is drawing her own conclusions about her guests. "Can I do anything else for you boys?" 

"No, thank you," Porthos says, grinning up at her from his chair by the window. "We had a huge breakfast." 

It's still snowing heavily outside, the sky grey and obscured by dark clouds bearing yet more load, but inside the inn it's cosy to the point of melting. There's an open fireplace in the breakfast room, the furniture is old, comfortable and sturdy, and everything is so wonderfully dependable and homey that Porthos isn't surprised in the least when he spots measuring cuts in the doorframe, complete with names and dates. "I like it here," he declares once their hostess has left the room. "I'm glad we decided to stop here." 

"Yes, I did well, did I not," Athos drawls, taking a sip of his own hot chocolate. "I just hope we will not be delayed for too long." 

Porthos shrugs. "I'm sure Madame has a washing machine." 

Athos lifts his brow at him. "You are aware that you are expected back to work on the first?" 

"I am," Porthos grins at him, "but I'm not sure the weather cares." 

"It doesn't look like it," Aramis agrees, staring out of the window. "I need to call Constance." 

"I want to go for a walk once it stops snowing," Porthos says. 

Athos huffs. "If it ever does." 

The cat of the household makes her entrance at that point, a somewhat overfed old lady, who meows at Porthos for sitting on her chair and jumps into his lap a second later, purring insistently. Porthos peers down at her while she makes herself comfortable and curls up into a ball of soft grey fur. "That reminds me – you did close the window before you left, didn't you, Athos?" 

"It's not like she cannot get back out the same way she came in," Athos drawls. "But yes, I am sure I closed the window." 

"Why?" Aramis asks. 

"New tenant in room 304," Athos says with a little smile. "Has got a cat. A huge one. Some sort of Maine Coon mix. Apparently she likes to visit." 

"Athos found her on his bed a few times after he'd painted next to the open window," Porthos grins. "Did we never tell you?" 

"No, you did not," Aramis pouts, so Porthos leans in and gives him a kiss, earning himself an annoyed grumble from the lady in his lap. 

"Sorry, kitten," he says, addressing both actual cat and Aramis. "We'll introduce you as soon as possible." 

"I am thinking about putting a little garden on the roof," Athos murmurs, apparently lost in thoughts of his own. "That would be nice for her, would it not?" 

Porthos smirks at him. "Not to mention us, actual human beings." 

"You can go to the park," Athos huffs. "It is right across the street." 

So typical of Athos, Porthos thinks, to create a roof garden for the one cat in the house, just because she's slept in his bed a few times. But then again Athos has always been looking out for his own.


	3. Chapter 3

It has stopped snowing. Since it's two hours to midnight, this is of no immediate concern. Porthos certainly doesn't plan on setting out in the middle of the night – at least not in the car. "I wanna go for a walk!" he declares, already wearing a knitted hat and scarf. "Come on, join me!" 

Athos, lying spread-eagled on the bed in their cosy little room, eyes him wearily. "It is pitch-black outside," he complains. "And we just had dinner." 

"One more reason to go out and stretch our limbs a bit," Porthos reasons, turning to face Aramis who is sitting on the broad window sill, propped up by cushions. "Come on, kitten, help me out here." 

"But it's cold outside," Aramis mutters, looking more than ready to join Athos on the bed. 

Porthos grins at him, naughty and promising. "I'll warm you up later." 

"Oh no you will not," Athos grunts. "Not with me in the bed." 

Porthos grins a little wider. "You hear that, kitten? Athos wants to warm you up himself." 

Aramis blushes prettily, while Athos groans and rolls his eyes. "All right, all right. But as soon as one of us falls on his ass we go back!" 

He levers himself off the soft mattress and marches over to the coat rack, and Porthos executes a neat salute when he passes him. "Yes Sir!" 

"Will you two stop calling me Sir," Athos mumbles, shrugging into his coat. 

Porthos glances at Aramis. Aramis glances back. Most certainly not. 

 

"This is truly beautiful," Athos has to admit ten minutes later. 

They have ventured out into the little town, still wreathed in Christmas lights, covered in a thick layer of snow. The sky is clear and full of stars above them, and so late in the day they are the only souls roaming the streets. The townspeople are staying inside their houses, doors shut against the cold, light streaming out their windows. 

"My hands are a little cold," Athos says quietly after they have walked for a minute or two in silence, and Porthos promptly stuffs his own hand next to Athos' into the capacious pocket of his coat. 

"Come here." Athos lets him, takes Porthos' hand and links their fingers, and Porthos melts a little inside. "You take his other hand, kitten." 

Aramis beams at him and obeys, and they march on like that, holding hands in the middle of the night, unobserved by anyone but the stars and the waning moon. It's eerily quiet, and they don't ruin it by talking either – allow the silence to envelop them and nothing but the crunching of their boots in the snow to penetrate it. The cold brushes up against their faces, turns their breath to cloud, and Porthos loves its contrast with the warmth inside his clothes – the warmth of Athos' hand. He could walk on like this forever. But the town is small and its border soon comes in sight. They stop next to the very last house, gaze out at the dark countryside in its bedding of snow stretching out towards the horizon, illuminated by moon and starlight, glittering ever so faintly. 

"Weather forecast says we should be able to drive on tomorrow," Porthos murmurs, still holding Athos' hand inside his coat pocket, and Athos gives it a little squeeze, moves a little closer to him. 

"I would not mind staying here for a little while longer." 

"We can come back," Aramis whispers, following Athos' movement and pressing closer to the both of them. 

"Yeah," Porthos smiles, leaning in to brush a kiss to Aramis' cold cheek. "They like us here." 

 

"There," Porthos murmurs into Athos' neck an hour after they set out. "Isn't this nice." 

They have returned to their room, have brushed their teeth and undressed and squeezed into bed … turned off the lights. 

"I have no idea why I have to be the one lying in the middle," Athos drawls back. His voice is muffled by one of the two thick blankets covering the three of them, and Porthos' mouth pulls into a smile. "Cause you're the one who got cold on the walk," he reasons, his voice low and deliberately rough. Athos, as Porthos has found out over the years, likes it rough. He's lying behind Athos, spooning him the way he always does when they're in bed together ... his hand resting low on Athos' belly in a way it definitely not always does when they're in bed together. 

"I can move onto the floor," Aramis offers at this point, sounding adorably shy, and Porthos feels Athos move – feels him reach out and pull Aramis into his arms. 

"I am merely joking, Aramis," he hears him whisper. "Porthos is right. This is very nice." 

Aramis sighs and snuggles up to him, trusting and soft as always, and Porthos can feel the resulting warmth in Athos – can feel him going soft in turn. This is going to kill him. Softly, apparently. Every fibre of Porthos' being is singing with joy about the direction the relationship between the two most important people in his life is taking. Watching Aramis and Athos interact fills Porthos with light and warmth and happiness, even when they do no more but talk about the weather. The connection between them is special, has been from the start, and Porthos knows they're as safe with each other as any two people could be. He moves a little closer to Athos from behind, pushes him deeper into Aramis' arms, and allows himself to fall asleep like that – holding on to his best friend, his knuckles brushing against his lover's belly. 

He's one lucky bastard, that much he's certain of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year


	4. Chapter 4

When Porthos wakes up, he's no longer spooning Athos. Instead, Athos is lying on his back between him and Aramis, snoring ever so slightly. Outside the window dawn is breaking. The grey of night is yielding to a weak sun, pale and exhausted. It doesn't concern Porthos overmuch. Because he's warm and comfortable, and Athos is right there. Athos, in his dark green pyjamas, his face lax in sleep, one corner of his mouth tilting up in the hint of a smile. His right arm is curled around Aramis, who has vacated his cushion in favour of Athos' chest and is holding on to the fabric of his pyjamas with a possessive grip. 

Aramis only ever sleeps in his shorts if he can get away with it, prefers the intimate warmth of skin on skin contact. Thus Athos' hand lies on his back without the barrier of annoying clothing – just as possessive as Aramis' grip on his pyjama. Porthos smiles at the picture the two of them present, and it takes his sleep-addled brain a moment to register that Athos' left hand is holding on to the waistband of his pants, his knuckles brushing dangerously low. Porthos makes a soft noise at the discovery, amused and fond, and gently pries Athos' fingers off the soft flannel. Athos, still fast asleep, produces a distressed sound at the back of his throat. Apparently he quite likes the flannel. 

For a brief but intense moment Porthos has no idea what to do with himself. Then he pushes forward, closer to Athos, brushes a kiss to his forehead and cheek; he reaches out to Aramis to put his hand over Athos' on his back, squeezes it gently … takes a deep breath, and sighs. Better. Athos seems to agree, for he turns his head to the side, presses his face to the hollow of Porthos' throat, breathes him in. It's intimate and tender and perfect, and Porthos doesn't even try to fall back asleep. He drifts for a while, aware of the warmth in his limbs, the light in his chest. 

He loves these two men, the one just as much as the other. His feelings for them are not identical, for they themselves are not identical, but if pressed Porthos couldn't say who he loves more. His bond with Athos is old, tested by time, enduring and everlasting. It is the ground beneath his feet, always there, if slightly shifting, the tremors unnoticeable to the untrained eye. Compared to that his feelings for Aramis are like freshly fallen snow, innocent and invigorating. But that snow is also covering Athos, is covering the bond that connects them – invigorates them both. 

Porthos smiles, sleepy and happy, as he looks at Aramis' face. Aramis has brought a fresh breeze into their life, has wrapped him and Athos around his little finger without noticing, without even trying to, and Porthos has an inkling that Aramis loves Athos just as much as he loves him. _Almost_ as much is what he said at Christmas, but that was what he had to say – being Aramis, still so insecure at times, not quite ready yet to admit to what's been building at the bottom of his heart ever since he stepped into the apartment and saw Athos for the first time. 

They are alike in this, the two of them; it's who they are, and Porthos loves them for it, even if they make him wait a little. He doesn't mind waiting. He doesn't have to do it alone after all. 

 

They make him wait another hour before they stir. Athos groans and tilts his head, and Pothos feels his lips graze his skin, closes his eyes and smiles. "Good mornin'." 

Athos, obviously still half-asleep, strokes his hand over Porthos' naked chest. "Good morning." 

It very nearly gives Porthos goose-bumps. "I hope you slept well," he murmurs, his voice as rough as it is low, and Athos nods, allows his lips to graze Porthos' skin yet again. Porthos is beginning to suspect him of intentional tenderness. 

"Yes," Athos whispers, moving his hand on Aramis' back, making Aramis sigh, "very well." 

The desire to kiss him takes root somewhere in Porthos' chest, grows tendrils of warmth down to his belly. He resist the same way he always does, but he knows that it is gaining strength every time it appears. He doesn't know if Aramis is the one watering it, giving it just the right amount of light and warmth, but Porthos suspects that Aramis is indeed the one responsible. The one to blame. Because it's watching Athos with Aramis that turns Porthos into a helpless devotee. It's watching the two of them together that captivates his heart irrevocably and makes him happy to be alive more than anything else does. 

"Should we wake him?" Athos asks after a moment of comfortable silence. "How late is it?" 

"Not that late yet," Porthos murmurs. "Let him sleep." 

Aramis sighs again and moves closer to Athos – lies half on top of him by now. Porthos lets go of Athos' hand, still lying on Aramis' back, in favour of burying his own hand in Aramis' tangled locks. Athos does not say anything for a long moment, and then he gently clears his throat. "If this makes you uncomfortable, you must tell me so." 

Porthos blinks. "Huh?" 

"This kind of … closeness, between me and Aramis," Athos explains after taking a deep, strengthening breath. 

"Are you kiddin'?" Porthos rumbles. "If I could make you kiss on a daily basis I'd do it!" 

Athos is silent for a heartbeat or two, and then he lifts his face to Porthos and looks into his eyes. "You wish me to kiss him?" 

"As often as possible," Porthos confirms solemnly. "You might as well do it – he told me he likes you _almost_ as much as me. And you know what that means, comin' from Aramis." 

Athos flushes scarlet. "Oh." 

"Yeah," Porthos agrees happily. "He's got good taste." 

Aramis yawns at that point, and rubs his cheek over Athos' pyjama-clad chest. "What are you talking about?" 

"Your infectious affection for the two of us," Porthos informs him. He leans over Athos to brush a kiss to Aramis' cheek, and when he pulls back Athos takes a deep breath and does the same. 

Aramis' eyes look a bit hazy when he opens them. "Did I – did I do something?" 

"Oh, so many wonderful things," Porthos teases him, ruffling Aramis' hair. "Plus, we just like to kiss you." 

His words cause a very pretty blush on Aramis' cheeks, and when he notices that he's holding on to Athos' pyjamas with both hands he lets go of the slightly crumpled fabric and strokes it smooth. "Sorry." 

Between them, Athos sighs deeply and heartfelt. "Waking up with you two should require a gun permit." 

"Why, cause you're prone to go off unexpectedly with us around?" Porthos chuckles, just for Athos to knock the wind out of his lungs with his reply. 

"Precisely that, yes."

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos to etoiledemer for the prompt!


End file.
